


The boy from the market

by thecountessolivia



Series: The Anastomosis Snapshots [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sort Of, it's never straightforward when these two are involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-24 08:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13807491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecountessolivia/pseuds/thecountessolivia
Summary: Hannibal makes a new acquaintance at the local market. Will reacts accordingly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Assume this takes place in the same post-fall reality as ["Blueschist"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13439064/chapters/30800961), ["After Dinner'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12917154/chapters/29514102) and ["Pelt"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12890007). I really need to start a collection of these.. just can't think what to call it.

Will emerges from the murk of the hardware store into the sun-dappled labyrinth of the market. It's mid-morning, and the shoulder-to-shoulder bustle beneath the jacaranda trees is peaking. The fishmongers are singing their siren sale songs, the women are haggling, the children whining. The tourists are lining up shots of stalls that heave with twenty varieties of citrus, with plastic trays of spices, with pyramids of pastel-colored confectionary.

Will winds his way through the crowds, dodges dust clouds kicked up by the odd passing motorbike, smiles at the stray dogs tiptoeing hopefully around the butcher's hut. This is where Will had found his two pups: bright-eyed and shy and skeleton thin. They're fatter now, and far less shy.

He spots Hannibal's familiar hat next to the gathering of heads by the stall of their favorite greengrocer. The stern old farmer who usually serves them today tends to another customer. And Hannibal — who somehow never has to wait in line — is collecting his shopping from a young man in a faded red Coca-Cola T-shirt. Will has never seen the man before.

When he gets closer he hears Hannibal say something in Spanish. The man laughs in reply, a short, bright sound that bears his teeth. White and even, they gleam in the shadow of the stall's canopy. There is a thin gold chain around the man's neck.

\---

Next week, the scene replays itself — more or less. Will comes to collect Hannibal and finds him once more in the company of the young stall helper. Laughing and chattering, the man is occupied with carving a mango into the shape of a flower under Hannibal's watchful and expert tutelage. Slivers of ripe flesh slip from beneath his sharp pocket knife. Will finds himself guessing the man's age: mid-twenties, at most.

Before Will has a chance to touch him, Hannibal turns and offers Will a smile. When he turns back to collect his shopping from the mango cutter, their fingers briefly touch. The man waves them off, then picks up the carved fruit and sinks his white teeth into the bright orange flower.

On the drive home, Will stares out the window at the rolling fields, the scattered farmhouses, the roadside bars.

"He's good with a knife," he says.

Hannibal glances over. "You mean Luca. He seems to be, yes. He has catering aspirations. He begins school next month."

Will says nothing else for the rest of the drive.

\---

The week after that, back at the market, Will doesn't leave Hannibal's side. When they reach the vegetable stall, the man — boy — throws one arm up in greeting and waves them over. Hannibal begins an exchange in Spanish, with the mango carver speaking quickly in reply and gesturing broadly about the stall. Will tries his best, but can understand less than half of what's being said. In the end, Hannibal says his goodbyes empty-handed.

"Nothing today?" Will says.

"The items we require are not available until tomorrow." Hannibal turns back to the stallkeep with a smile. "Luca has kindly offered to deliver them to our door."

The boy grins at at them both, hands on his hips. “I see you tomorrow, okay?” he says in English. His gold chain glints in the sun. Will can imagine, with photographic clarity, the mark it would leave on his neck.

\---

The next day, Will is holding back the dogs while Luca backs up a rusty pick-up truck through their gate. He hops out and immediately unfurls the same white grin Will knows from the market. His thick black hair has flopped in his eyes, shielding it from the noon sun.

"Hello," he says brightly, retrieving a plastic crate of provisions from the back of the truck. "I have your shopping."

Will sends away the dogs. He stares at the boy briefly then nods for him to follow inside. Hannibal, who should be in the kitchen starting lunch, is nowhere in sight.

Inside, the boy pauses and gawks at the sprawl and the Hannibalesque ostentation of their open plan kitchen and lounge. His eyes fall on the shining black Borgato and he gestures towards it with the tray he's carrying.

"Wow, that's a big thing. Do you play it?"

Will looks to the piano then glances back to the boy. "No. My husband does."

He waits for a reaction but Luca is still merely staring, slightly slack-jawed. "I want to learn to play one day." Again with the bright grin. "Okay. Where do you want shopping?"

"Just leave it on the—" Will is about to point to the kitchen counter and send the boy on his way, but then... Hannibal would want everything put away where it belongs, wouldn't he? Everything tidy, in its proper place.

"Actually, let's take this stuff down to the cellar."

\---

Will leads him down the steep, narrow steps and props the heavy wooden door with a stop.

"There, at the back." Will points to the larder shelves stacked with wooden storage crates. "Should be pretty obvious what goes where."

Luca squats down and starts unloading the artichokes, the shallots and at least three varieties of mystery cabbage. Will loiters, watching. He wonders what Hannibal is doing this very minute. He can't be far. Will knows when he's far.

"Oh," the boy says, "I forgot, I have one more box. I go get it?"

"I'll get it," Will says, moves for the door and— stops. Everything falls into place in his head, smooth and easy like the hinges he'd oiled on the cellar door, just last week.

He looks back to the boy. He has his back to Will and he's humming softly to himself.

A swift, soundless kick to dislodge the doorstop, a flick of the latch on the lock and then Will is trotting lightly up the steps, no looking back, while the door slides silently closed behind him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got a wee bit longer than I expected so now in three chapters.

Will reaches the kitchen to find Hannibal standing in the middle of the living room, hands in his pockets, still as a statue. The windows to the garden are open behind him, the ocean breeze breathing heavily into the net curtains.

"Where is our visitor?" Hannibal asks.

Will moves past the kitchen island and pulls a boning knife from the knife block. He makes a slow show of examining it, touching two fingertips to the blade.

"Locked in the cellar."

"I see."

Will pins the tip of the blade into the chopping board. "In about a minute or two  _our visitor_ will have finished putting away your onions and your weird cabbages. Then he'll try the door." He leans into the knife handle, gripping it tight. "Well? Are we now where you want us to be?"

"I only want what you want," Hannibal says. "But I also want us to be careful. Safe."

Will glares up at him. Hannibal glares at the knife.

"Don't you ever learn?" Will says.

Hannibal blinks up slowly, and his eyes are wide. His chest moves visibly, evenly with his breath. "The desire to bear witness to new facets of you will never dampen, Will. It's like kindling a holy flame. How I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, right now."

"And you know how I see myself. How I see— this. It's the same game you and I have played for years. You set up the pieces and then drag me to the table."

"I had hoped this time you'd see this rather as a gift. One of immense opportunity."

Will snorts. "Right. And if I'd refused your gift? Ignored your instigation? You'd have kept on pushing. How far would you have gone? Would you have fucked this boy just to see how I'd react?"

Hannibal runs his tongue over his lips and opens his mouth to speak. From downstairs comes a jiggling of the door handle and then a knock: light and not too urgent.

Upstairs, a heavy silence. A stare drags and weighs down between them from across the room.

"I wonder how long he'd scream for if I didn't let him out," Will says softly. "How many days we'd have to listen to him before he'd get too weak. Weeks, I'm guessing. No one else would hear him out here. And after that? Did you have any recipe suggestions for me?"

"Will—"

Another knock. A bit louder this time.

Will sighs. He pulls the knife from the chopping board then shoves it back in the block.

"We'll keep talking," he says roughly and then, loudly enough to be heard. "Hold on, Luca. We're just getting the key."

He moves for the stairs and glares back at Hannibal. "Go get the other fucking crate from his truck. Now."

Will unlocks the cellar. Its occupant emerges still grinning, if slightly baffled. Will takes him upstairs, a friendly hand on his arm. "Sorry about that, Luca. The door must have shut behind me."

"That's okay, no problem. Do you want me to do the other stuff?" The boy points at the rest of his delivery, already unloaded by Hannibal onto the kitchen counter. He's not looking at Will when he speaks. He's pushing his hair from his eyes and smiling at Hannibal, who is leaning against the kitchen island, expression unreadable.

Will eyes this boy, this creature. His bare knees are dusty from kneeling on the cellar floor and he smells like sunshine and sweat. So innocent, so oblivious. So unscathed, body and mind, while he stands here between two unfathomable men. A smitten youth, nothing more.

"Don't worry yourself, we'll manage." It's Hannibal speaking this time. He moves elegantly across the kitchen and stacks the second empty crate into the boy's arms, then slips a folded note into the pocket of his jean shorts. "I'll see you out."

"Aren't you going to ask about the piano?" Will says and hears the venom in his voice.

"Oh, I was just saying—" Luca flushes and rubs at the back of his neck. "It's a nice piano. I want to play, you know. Maybe. Some day."

Hannibal is already guiding him gently to the door, obliging him with a bland smile. "Perhaps at some point we can arrange for a lesson."

"Wow, really? I can maybe—"

The rest of the conversation is lost to Will as the two of them step outside, Hannibal's hand on the boy's shoulder. He can't hear his thoughts over the sound of blood in his ears.

\---

"You're angry," Hannibal says.

Will shakes his head. He takes wide steps across the living room, slumps onto the sofa and stares out the windows. Hannibal follows, but keeps his distance.

"I know you don't want this kid," Will says. "And I know you don't need this to test... us. He's just a chess piece for you to shunt across your board."

"But still you have imagined what might be."

"I have imagined you and him fucking, yeah."

Hannibal glides closer, into Will's periphery. Wanting to be seen.

"It's our chess board, Will, if you must insist on this particular metaphor. That boy needn't be on it. I'm here to help you work through whatever it is you're feeling."

Will breathes in sharply and leans back into the sofa, hands spread out over the cushions. He lets the sincerity in that open statement soak through him, then take shape into something sharp and vivid. A sense of direction flowing from the molten core of his anger.

"How would you seduce him?" he asks.

Hannibal swallows hard at that. "I must say, I haven't—"

"You haven't thought about it, have you? You only thought about how I'd react once _I_ imagined it."

Hannibal is silent. Standing there, motionless again, but for a pair of eyes that move over Will's face. The early afternoon sun has slipped into the room and onto his tanned skin and the smooth pale blue linen of his shirt.

"I guess I'll have to tell you then," Will says.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit... fucked up. Depending on how you read things, there might be some consent issues involved. You have been warned.

Will stands and undertakes a tour of the living room. He drums his fingers over the smooth veneer of the grand piano; he touches the glass panels on the hulking drinks cabinet. He can see Hannibal turning on the spot, watching his every move.

"The piano lesson. That's as good a place to start as any," Will says. "A little cheesy, a little romance novel, but you can work on that."

"You intend to unfold this scene in some detail then," Hannibal says, stiffly.

"Didn't you offer to help me with my feelings?"

"I did."

"So help me. And pay attention." Will peers into the drinks cabinet and, after a moment, selects a bottle. "A drink to start. Nothing too expensive for the humble stall-keep. He won't appreciate the finer stuff. A snifter of cachaça will do, just enough to get his blood warm."

Will pours two measures of the spirit and delivers them to Hannibal. When he hands him his glass, their fingers touch. The wind from the ocean heaves itself through the open windows and into their hair. The sun is spilling thick and hot at their feet.

Will takes a sip. Hannibal follows, eyes never leaving Will's face. "Your design is becoming clearer," he says quietly.

Will smiles sweetly and lays a hand on Hannibal's shoulder. "Wait for me on the piano bench while you enjoy your drink. I won't be a moment."

He makes the trip upstairs quickly. In the bathroom, he rummages through the back of a drawer for what he needs. He catches his reflection in the mirror and can't help a grin. He can feel the scales rebalancing, and the first flare of excitement that comes from taking control of the game fires through him.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, he cuts and arranges segments of one of Luca's freshly delivered mangos onto a plate, sprinkling them with sea salt and chili. He sets the plate on a small tray and brings it to the piano.

"This is a nice touch," Will says, sitting down beside Hannibal, not too close. "A reminder of the experience you two shared at the market, an ideal accompaniment to the drink, and something to flavor his mouth to your taste for when you kiss him." Will raises a slice of the mango to Hannibal's lips. "Please, have a bite."

Hannibal slides closer and takes a bite from Will's hand, eyes half mast. The drink has warmed his breath and cheeks. "I want you to know that I've wanted to kiss you since you came up from the cellar," he murmurs and brushes his lips, wet and sticky from the fruit, over Will's knuckle.

Will pulls his hand away. "Are you talking to him or to me?"

"You, Will. Only you."

"Then you're not keeping up. It's just you and him now. And he definitely wouldn't make the first move. And now—' He sets the plate aside, lifts the piano lid and taps Hannibal lightly on the wrist. "Play a few scales for me."

Hannibal hesitates, fingers hovering above the keys, then obliges. He begins to play a minor scale slowly on repeat.

"He’d be so nervous," Will says softly above the music, "Giddy even. All this attention from the attractive and mysterious older man. Meanwhile you wouldn't put up with too much of his rough fingers stumbling about your instrument. No point in drawing this out. Best to distract him quickly."

Will brings himself closer. One hand falls lightly onto Hannibal's thigh. With the other he begins to unfasten the buttons of Hannibal's shirt, enough to bare one shoulder and press his lips, feather-light, against warm skin. His knuckles trail over Hannibal’s collarbone.

"Is this acceptable?"

Hannibal nods once, eyes downcast. "Yes," he says, barely heard. His hands slip from the keyboard and fold tightly in his lap.

Will squeezes Hannibal's thigh and brushes his lips over outlines of muscle and bone, up to his neck. "I'm glad to hear it," he says against Hannibal's skin. "Would you like me to kiss you? You must have thought about it."

Hannibal swallows hard enough for Will to feel it beneath his lips. "I have thought about it since the moment we met."

Will brings his palms up to cradle Hannibal's jaw. He turns his head gently and takes a moment to savour the look Hannibal bears: the faint troubled crease between his brows, the uncertain line of his mouth. Will delivers a kiss that's tender, soft and dry. Then he pulls Hannibal up to stand and turns his attention back to the buttons of his shirt.

“Shoes off, please.”

Hannibal steps out of his shoes, toes tugging his feet free of socks. He reaches down to undo his trousers. “Leave that,” Will says. “Wouldn’t you want the pleasure of getting him out of that appalling T-shirt and shorts combo to yourself? Peeling them away until all you have under your hands is that supple, sun-kissed skin.”

Will smooths his hands down Hannibal’s chest, down to the buckle of his belt. He gets to his knees to divest Hannibal from the last stitches of clothing, kissing the sensitive skin over his hipbones, the tops of his thighs, the half hard shaft of his cock. He can hear Hannibal's breath above him, unsettled and inconstant like the wind that dances about the room. Hannibal's fingers flex at his sides, towards Will.

"You’re very beautiful," Will murmurs between kisses. "And you taste so sweet."

"Thank you," Hannibal says roughly. His fingers tangle in Will's hair, threading through again and again. Will pulls away from the caress and stands. He takes a step back to admire his efforts: Hannibal naked and unsure before him.

"How am I doing so far?" Will asks.

Hannibal shakes his head, mouth parted for breath. "I cannot say. You're blurring too many edges for me."

Will pulls him in by the shoulders. "And who is it that drags me to the edge each and every time?" he says and delves in with a kiss again, deep and devouring this time, wet tongue twisting and thrusting against Hannibal's.

Hannibal's breath turns to sound, low and rough in his throat. His hands roam over the front of Will's shirt, then down to the front of his pants. "I'd like to see you as well. Will you let me?"

“No," Will hisses between bites and suckles of Hannibal's lips. "Don't think so. You'd enjoy the contrast of him naked and exposed while you're armored in your fine clothes, in your fine house. The question is—" Will's palm comes to rest against Hannibal's cock, fingertips just barely tracing the delicate foreskin. "—where will you put him?"

Hannibal's hips arch once into Will's touch. He licks his lips and strains in for another kiss. "Take me to bed?"

"Wrong again, I think," Will says, musing. "Too soon. Or maybe not at all. Who knows what his fate is after this? You haven't decided yet. Not worth introducing him to your inner sanctums." Will peers around the room. "It's gotta be the armchair. By now you've already imagined how graceful his legs would look splayed over the armrests while you fuck him. The contrast of light brown skin against smooth dark leather. Come." Will gives Hannibal's cock a little tug. "Let's get you comfortable."

Hannibal comes readily enough, but falls unnervingly silent. There is tension in his shoulders when Will settles him into the armchair and his fingers press too tightly into the leather. His cock comes to rest against his stomach, not quite fully hard. The thick afternoon sun spills over his naked skin and makes him squint until Will's shadow comes to cover him. Then he searches Will's face relentlessly, wide-eyed.

Will tries to move past a creeping sense of unease. He kneels before the chair and unzips, freeing his cock. He gives himself a few rough strokes while he takes the lube from his pocket, then arranges Hannibal's legs, one on the armrest, the other lifted onto Will's shoulder. Hannibal's ankle feels slim and too fragile in Will's clasp. He nuzzles against it, kisses the fine bones of Hannibal's foot, and hopes for at least a small sigh of pleasure. Nothing. A staring, intense silence. Will frowns. The lube coats his fingers and he slides two between Hannibal's cheeks, a warming slippery caress, up and down. "How does that feel for you?"

"You know it's good," Hannibal says quietly, at last. "You always know how to touch me, Will—"

Will leans in abruptly to smother his name with a kiss and slides one finger in smoothly, all at once, into Hannibal's body. A short, startled groan vibrates beneath his lips.

“You’d be so gentle with him," Will murmurs, curving and flexing his finger inside, feeling the slow release of the muscle that grips it. "He can’t have much experience. You'd ramp up the sensations in his body until he squirms and moans for you."

Another finger eased in gently, widening the stretch, while Will lays kisses over Hannibal's chest. He looks up at the smooth lids of Hannibal's closed eyes, the shine of parted, softly panting lips. The near silence and stillness of him, accepting but absent. Will reaches into his back pocket, for the condom he’d stashed there earlier.

They bought them many months ago and the box has sat, unopened, in the back of the bathroom drawer. Will slips his fingers from Hannibal's body and tears into the packet. Hannibal's eyes fly open at the sound. He stares at the condom. The troubled crease between his brows grows pained. Will hears the rising, unsteady crescendo of the game that he increasingly wants to get done and over with.

“A necessary precaution for both of us," he says, rolling on the condom and hating the sound of his own voice, its crude approximations.

He tugs at Hannibal's legs, pulling him towards his cock. He lines up and presses in, too quickly and too deep inside Hannibal's body. When he's all the way in, he tries to keep still and breathes hard. The heat of the sun is flaying his back through his shirt, a steady burning, like his arousal. Will wishes he could come right now and put an end to this, burn this thing between them to ash.

"Squeeze for me," he says. Hannibal doesn't look at him when he obeys. His body tightens around Will's cock. "That's good. You feel very good around me."

Hannibal's forearm falls over his eyes. His chest moves fast with his breath, and he makes no move to touch himself. Will rolls his hips, grinding forward and up, achingly slow, knowing just where his cock must move to make Hannibal writhe with pleasure beneath him. He brings his lips to Hannibal's jaw, kissing up to his ear. He's had enough. He twists the knife.

"Your body fits me so well, Luca. Lovely Luca."

Hannibal clasps the nape of Will's neck. His nails dig in. His head rolls from side to side, eyes pinched shut. "Will, please—"

Will clamps a hand over his mouth. "No. Be quiet," he says through clenched teeth and picks up his pace. He fucks in hard, hips working in sharp, short thrusts. "It's just you and him. This is how it happens. How you'd have it happen."

"No, Will." Hannibal pulls at Will's hand and his voice is strained and shaky. "Enough, please. Be here with me."

Will's hips stutter to a stop, deep inside. He grinds his forehead into Hannibal's shoulder and stares at the darkness behind his eyelids. His cock throbs and his chest hurts. When he looks up, almost fearful, Hannibal's eyes are wide and wet. The same knife twists in Will's heart, spilling out guilt and pitiful need, despite everything.

“Tell me,” he whispers, and it comes out choked and pleading. "Just tell me what I need to hear."

“I’m yours,” Hannibal says at once. "All yours, Will."

It comes as a single gesture: Will pulling out, too fast, stripping off the condom, tossing it aside. A quick fumble for more lube and then he sinks back inside, where he belongs, desperately and completely. He's being kissed and undressed and hears his name whispered over and over again in his ear. He wants to laugh with relief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lordy, this got even longer than expected. A shorter chapter 4 due soon but then that's it, I promise!


	4. Chapter 4

They sink from the chair to the floor, into a pool of golden sunshine. They wrestle and tumble, their cocks caught in the tight pleasure crush of their bodies, until rug friction burns their skin and limb adheres to limb with tacky sweat. And all the while their mouths stay locked, barely breaking for breath.

Will wants to drink it all up: the harsh, strangled noises Hannibal makes, the wet heat of his tongue. It's Hannibal who pulls them apart, twisting to lie on his side and dragging Will along. The curtain-tangling ocean gust cracks a whip of cold air between them and then heat seals them together again. Will finds his way back inside so easily, so completely, that he clutches at Hannibal with a bruising strength and shakes out a broken groan against his shoulder. He moves his lips over the tense shift and flex of muscle beneath Hannibal’s skin, feels the sighs moving beneath his hand on Hannibal’s throat. Hannibal flings an arm back to grab at Will’s ass and arches to take him deeper. Will pulls back and quickly shoves in again, once, with a hard slap against Hannibal's flesh.

Then he wills himself to stay still — or nearly so. He drags his nails down Hannibal's chest and slowly starts to move. Little pulses and swirls and juts of his hips that put his dick exactly where he aims it, time and time again. He huffs a breath of laughter, pleased and dizzy with arousal, when he gets what he wants: Hannibal groaning rough and low, and gripping his cock to jerk himself hard. Will watches him greedily: the carved, solid beauty of his body, all for Will to steer and manoeuvre.

He nips at Hannibal's ear. "Wish I could go deeper."

A shuddering breath from Hannibal. His body squeezes tight around Will and his fist over his cock is a near blur. "Would it ever be deep enough?"

"Don't know.” Will nips at the line of his jaw, scrapes his teeth over stubble. ”Don't know how to tell. Sometimes I think my hands under your ribs wouldn't be enough."

"I'd let you. I'd let you warm your hands on my heart."

All control crumbles. Will shuts his eyes and puts his teeth to the sweat-slicked skin of Hannibal's neck. He begins to fuck. Wild and fast and scored by shameless moans until his orgasm startles and shakes him with its sudden force, and then he slumps back into something like the real world, in time to see Hannibal shudder and come into the tight grip of his own hand.

\---

"I know I don't need to apologize," Will says. He spits the words out, despite himself, after the silence between them has stretched for too long.

They're sat cross-legged from each other, still naked, eating their way through the leftover mango. The dogs have trotted in from the garden, drawn by the commotion, and brought two cold, cautious noses towards the plate. Will shoos them off.

"If I were to try to elicit an apology I might say you judged my intentions too harshly," Hannibal says. "But that would suggest I was clear about them from the onset. In any case, you are right. You have no cause for remorse. You chose to resolve this in your own fashion and I do not regret bearing the brunt of your—” Hannibal pauses for a bite and takes a moment too long to swallow, "—approach."

Will looks up, searching for a shadow of the pain that shot through Hannibal's face earlier. “Are you sure? You still tried to stop me.”

“I did. But in the end you stopped yourself. Again, the choice was yours."

Will leans over the plate to take another bite and chews slowly.

“You say your intentions weren’t clear. Are you telling me you didn't consider my possible reactions to your— moves on this kid? I find that extremely difficult to believe.“

Hannibal reaches out to rescue a stray drop of juice from Will's chin with his thumb. “I only hoped to be surprised. When the potential in you is fullfiled, Will, it always delights. Even when you go straight for the instigator's throat. Or I should say: especially when."

Will scowls at him, then at the pile of discarded mango skins between them.

"It is true that my aims were vague," Hannibal says, "but they were also wider than you had imagined. I thought perhaps you yourself might find the boy appealing.”

Will stares up at that, this time at Hannibal’s face. Hannibal’s teeth sink into the bright soft flesh of the fruit. His eyes are bright.

Will’s mind flashes back to his canine gang at Wolf Trap: the moles and rabbits caught in the fields, brought to the porch and dropped at his feet. The excitement and anticipation of reward from the proud hunter. The same excitement now makes Hannibal’s eyes shine. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

Will moves a hand over his mouth. “Fuck. You mean—“

"Haven’t I tried to share every last piece of myself with you, Will? Every meal and experience?" Hannibal sets the plate aside and inches closer, palms reaching to caress warmly over Will's knees. "Why should this be different? There are many kinds of feasts, and I want your company at every one of them."

A sluice gate opens and the images flood into Will's head, half of them sensuous, the other half obscene. He sees the boy: stripped bare and writhing between their two bodies, an eager and willing prize. Bathed and prepared and ravaged on the dining table. Bent over the kitchen counter while they take turns... Christ.

Heat rushes to Will's face. He tries to stem the cascade of thoughts, lest the twitch of his cock gives him away. But of course Hannibal knows. He watches Will with a still intensity.

“I really— I don't know," he mutters. "Are you sure about this?”

“A new pleasurable experience shared with you, Will? Of course I am sure. Would you prefer the young lady from the delicatessen?”

Will laughs and covers his face with his hands. “Fresh produce, straight from the market. Jesus Christ, Hannibal.”

Hannibal leans in to kiss Will’s shoulder. “But: yes?”

Will slides his fingers into Hannibal’s hair. “I don’t know. As with all of your insane ideas, I’ll have to think about it. Just— what happens now?”

Hannibal tracks his lips slowly up to Will's neck, nuzzling into the curve above the shoulder. “Now I remove myself from the board and let you make whatever move you see fit. I'll wait and watch from the sidelines."

Will pulls him back gently by the hair.

"Shared?"

Hannibal nods once. "Shared. Everything and always, Will."

"Just don't hurt him."

A smirk from Hannibal. "Are you certain? What happened to dark cellars and sharp knives?"

"That was— I was just trying—" Will tugs harder at his fistful of hair and shuts them both up with a kiss.

The market opens again in the morning. Will wonders what pantry staples he'll have an excuse to buy when he gets there.


End file.
